


Furry Talk

by storiewriter



Series: Bentley Farkas and Friends [20]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Epic Friendship, Found Family, Friendship, Furry, Furry talk that is, Gen, Humor, Mostly shenanigans, tiny bit of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 18:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15691032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiewriter/pseuds/storiewriter
Summary: “We can always figure out what your furry is together,” Dipper said.“No,” Bentley said, flat.Dipper and Torako moaned in unison. Bentley glanced at the time display on the opposite wall—after eleven, he really needed to write that paper—and made a decision.“Fine,” he said. “Just—show me yours, I guess. For reference. You first, Torako.” It would be better to get the more chaotic of the two over and done with, he thought.-Bentley has been increasingly Essay Writer's Blocked. Dipper and Torako take advantage of the situation to help.





	Furry Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zilleniose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zilleniose/gifts).



> Zoey opened their mouth and [this](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/350829533005348866/479103379948437514/20180814_204509.jpg?width=257&height=467) came out.

            Bentley stared at his blank sheet of paper, pencil limp in his hand, then back up at Torako and Dipper’s expectant gazes. “I have no idea what my furry would be. Can we stop. I need to write my final paper, half my grade depends on it.”

            Torako groaned and flopped back, splayed across the ground of the living room floor. She did not, Bentley noticed, show her own sketchbook. “This is _why_ we’re figuring out furries! You’re supposed to take a break and have fun, goddammit.”

            “My paper,” Bentley said.

            “You’ve been staring at your reader for about three hours,” Torako said, “And we’ve been seeing you decline on the essay-writing front for about a week now. Hence the furries.”

            “I don’t know furries,” Bentley said. He lived a very deliberate lifestyle of trying to be ignorant of Torako and Dipper’s furry-related shenanigans. So far, ignorance really was bliss.

            “We can always figure out what your furry is together,” Dipper said. Bentley raised his eyebrows at Dipper, who was uncharacteristically wearing a lime-green…suit? Bentley didn’t know how to classify it. He _did_ know that he didn’t like the gleam in Dipper’s eyes, or the way his smile edged a little too far at the corners. It was his sneaky smile.

            “No,” Bentley said, flat.

            Dipper and Torako moaned in unison. Bentley glanced at the time display on the opposite wall—after eleven, he really needed to write that paper—and made a decision. It was probably a decision he would come to regret, but he needed to stop relaxing and get working, and the faster he got this over with the faster he could get his paper done the faster he could lie in bed and think about how much his teacher would hate it. Bentley also knew, from experience, that Torako and Dipper were tenacious little shits who would keep distracting him in the name of relaxation until he gave in. There was no avoiding his fate

            Bentley huffed and ruffled his hair. “Fine,” he said. “Just—show me yours, I guess. For reference. You first, Torako.” It would be better to get the more chaotic of the two over and done with, he thought. For his own sake.

            Torako sat up in a feat only possible through the power of her impressively toned abdominal muscles. She was beaming. Dipper pouted on the couch next to Bentley, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he clutched his datapad closer, having insisted on ‘newfangled technology’ instead of paper.

            “I love you,” Torako said. She lowered her eyelashes and grinned a grin that made Bentley tense in preparation. “Are you ready to see it?”

            He took a deep breath, tried—then failed—to relax, and nodded. “Go for it.”

            “Right then, drumroll please!”

            After a beat of silence, Dipper opened his mouth. A staccato beat of several kinds of drums all at once spilled forward, discordant. Bentley suddenly wondered if he really was going with the more chaotic one; Dipper _was_ the actual demon.

            “Knew I could count on you buddy,” Torako said, winking and throwing Dipper a finger gun. “All right, so, my fursona is a…”

            Silence. Bentley waited for Torako to speak, then quirked an eyebrow when she didn’t follow up immediately. That seemed to be the cue she was waiting for, because she turned the sketchbook around and thrust it out. Bentley squinted at the black scribbles. It was a lopsided circle on top of another lopsided circle, which had two lines sticking out the bottom and two vaguely triangular shapes sticking out the top.

            It was not a tiger, which was kind of surprising but also maybe kind of not, thinking about her sixteenth birthday and how some kid had tried to get her to go out with them using tiger-themed _everything_. It had not been a great move. “…a…bird?* Bentley said.

            “Almost!” Torako said. “It’s a crow! Caw caw, oystershuckers!”

            “…not a tiger?” Bentley said, half because he was curious, and half because he suspected it might make her go off into a rant. A crow was horribly benign and he was afraid of whatever monstrosity was in Dipper’s grasp. He would pay for his miscalculation, but only if he didn’t manage to distract them. Asking about the tiger was a good start. Hopefully.

            Torako groaned and set the sketchbook down, face-up, on the coffee table. “Ugh, no, the kanji in my name is completely different! Anyways, I’m not a tiger, I’m a crow. Crows are way cooler.”

            Bentley opened his mouth to argue that point. He had a whole counterargument based around the inherent strength of tigers versus crows planned out. “My turn!” Dipper said, the sound of his voice momentarily equivalent with the destruction of all of Bentley’s hopes and dreams.

            “Okay,” Torako said. She stuck her pencil between her upper lip and her nose. “As long as it’s not a crow. If it’s a tiger, you’re welcome to it, because it’s _not_ my fursona, no matter what Bentley might think.”

            Bentley did not actually think her fursona was a tiger, for the record. He didn’t know what her fursona was, but if she wanted to be a crow, she could be a crow. Dipper, on the other hand…

            “Ta-dah!” Dipper said, grinning wide and sharp, the tablet shaking a little in his excitement. Bentley stared at the display. Then, he squinted.

            “What,” he asked. He couldn’t even regret it, because if he didn’t ask, then Torako would have. Bentley saw no escape. There was no light at the end of the tunnel.

            “This is my fursona,” Dipper said. “He’s a cat who’s half demon half angel half ninja—you can tell because of the shuriken on his forehead—and his name is Emperor Kingsly.”

            Bentley chanced a glance at Torako. He could swear the gleam in her eyes was actually the reflection of the flames of purgatory. “That’s so creative,” she breathed, dropping the pencil into her waiting hand. Bentley despaired.

            “Thank you!” Dipper said. “ He’s the strongest dragon pirate ever, and he can breathe ice as well as fire and his ship is made of gold and—”

            Bentley blinked. The colors of the image shifted, but unfortunately not all to something that Bentley could comprehend with his mortal human brain. “D—I, uh, Dipper, what color is…this?”

            “The colors should be incredibly clear,” Dipper said, frowning. “I spent a lot of time picking the best colors.”

            They’d been sitting down for five minutes. Bentley closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s—okay fine, I understand some of them, but the ones in the feather sticking out of his shuriken aren’t really anything but smell, and something around his left foot is just a vague feeling of…discontent?” That might be just Bentley, but still.

            “Disgruntlement,” Torako said, like that changed the meaning of the word significantly. “Tragic backstory?”

            “Yes!” Dipper said. “Of course! See, when he was about two months old, his parents were set on fire and even though he tried to save them with his budding samurai skills, he—”

            Bentley interrupted. “I thought we were making…fursonas?”

            Torako stared at him. “Yes…?”

            “I don’t know a lot about fursonas,” Bentley said, “but _that_ is not a fursona.”

            Dipper gasped. Torako gasped with him. “How could you!” Dipper said. “You dare you question Lord Sparklecat Emperor Kingsly the Nine-Hundred-and—”

            “That’s not—let alone _full_ anything, it’s not even half anything!” Bentley gestured at it, somewhat manically. “There were more than two halves in whatever ridiculous bio you spouted off just now.”

            Dipper sniffed and clutched the tablet close to him. “Half-demon half-angel half-ninja half-unicorn half—”

            “ _That makes less sense than his name does_ ,” Bentley groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “And his name makes no sense at all, I just—Emperor _Kingsly_?”

            “Lord Sparklecat Dowager Emperor Kingsly the Nine-Hundred and Fifty-Seventh-and-a-half,” Dipper said, like it was the most mundane, most self-understandable thing. “Didn’t know we had a _professional_ furry critic in here, Mr. ‘I don’t know what my furry is because I’m lame’.”

            “Fine,” Bentley hissed, snatching his paper off the table and snapping it to harden so he could draw on it. “I’ll make my own ‘furry’ and it’s going to be better and more _logical_ than yours and—Torako what are you doing.”

            “I had to change mine,” Torako said, tongue poking out of her mouth as she drew. “Dipper opened my mind to the possibilities. I needed to do this.”

            Bentley closed his eyes. “I don’t want to know,” he said.

            “Done!” she said. “It’s a crow mermaid! Except, you know, reversed so that it’s the fish on top!”

            He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. He contemplated how the machinations of the universe had been set against him, to have everything lead up to this moment in time, and many moments like it in the past, and unfortunately many moments yet to come. Bentley considered calling his dad to complain, but then realized that his dad would undoubtedly beg Bentley to send him a copy of Dipper’s fursona so that he could psychoanalyze it, even if only for his own benefit. He’d probably also beg Bentley for his _own_ fursona.

            Bentley closed his eyes, and counted to ten.

            “Torako, do you take _constructive_ criticism?”

            “If it’s constructive, of course,” Torako said.

            Bentley exhaled, long and slow.

            “So, your fursona reflects you, right? I love the mercrow, or the flying fish, but—but it’s not _buff_. You’re _buff_ , and that is not a buff fursona,” said Dipper, who was apparently somehow a half-angel half-demon half-ninja half-unicorn who was the strongest dragon pirate ever and could breathe both ice and fire and whose left foot was a color that emanated a vague feeling of disgruntlement.

            Torako gasped. Bentley heard the scrape of graphite against paper. “You’re right, it needs _abs_ and _biceps_ ,” she said.

            Bentley wondered if Professor Lancaster would grant Bentley an extension if he cited roommate insanity.

            (he ended up retreating to his room and finishing the paper in a fit of rage-fueled inspiration after Torako’s fursona became an arms dealer—because their arms grew back after becoming sufficiently buff enough to shed, and philanthropy was all about giving people good things, right? Professor Lancaster gave him full marks and mentioned that it was one of the most well-reasoned essays they’d seen in a while.)

 


End file.
